


This Could Be the Beginning

by patternofdefiance



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, M/M, past Mary/John - Freeform, solving a case together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patternofdefiance/pseuds/patternofdefiance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Requested by LoyalNerdWP - thanks for letting me play with this lovely inspiration!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loyalnerdwp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/gifts).



> Requested by LoyalNerdWP - thanks for letting me play with this lovely inspiration!

Once, when John was very small, he’d found the old shoebox his mum kept letters in. She found him there, holding the bits of paper, confused but curious.

He’ll never forget the look on her face, as if the world rushed away and the past opened up, in front of her, around her, _inside_ of her.

These were the letters from his dad. Love letters. Apology letters. Letters of longing and desire and despair – and of course, the Final Letter.

John was too young then, and in many ways never quite grew old enough to understand – until it happened to him.

Until, nearly thirty years later, he sees Mary in Regent’s Park.

 

“Where have you been?” Sherlock asks when John comes home, pale and empty eyed.

“Huh?”

“John, I texted you to come home hours ago. Honestly,” Sherlock mutters.

John slumps down in his chair. After a while, Sherlock notices John is not actually present. He walks over and stares into John’s face, and his proximity startles John back to here and now.

“I – I saw Mary. At the park – on the way to Tesco’s…Mary.” Maybe if he says her name again, the room will stop spinning. “ _Mary_.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “A new addition to your string of tedious pursuits, I take it? Or is this some old conquest?” Sherlock catches the murder in John’s eye just in time to dodge the fist thrown his way. “What –John –calm down!”

“Sherlock, I take a lot of crap from you about my relationships, but not this time. You don’t know – you don’t care for _sentiment_ , so I don’t expect you to understand this, but not this time. Not with Mary.”

John is on his feet, fists clenched, and Sherlock is practically on top of the couch, and saying, “Alright, fine!”

John nods and sits, and Sherlock slumps down onto the couch. John is breathing heavily and trying to ignore the way Sherlock is staring at him, trying to read him. “Interesting,” Sherlock says finally.

“What?”

“I had no idea you were capable of such _intensity_ in your coupling endeavours. Up until now, all your attempts have seemed lackluster, dull distractions at best.”

“Sherlock,” John growls out a warning.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What I’m trying to say, John, is that you obviously care for this Mary, and I can respect that.” He nods at a dumbstruck John.

“I’ve cared about my other girlfriends –”

“Not like this.”

“I thought you didn’t hold any truck with –”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize it.” Sherlock gives one of his half smiles. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.”

John doesn’t know what to do with that. “Oh.”

“So? When will you be seeing her? We have a crime scene to go to now as it is. That’s why I was texting you,” Sherlock says with a sniff.

“I won’t be seeing her,” John says after a moment. “She’s engaged.”

Sherlock whips round to look at him. “Oh!”

And John knows Sherlock’s figured it out.

“Before Afghanistan,” he says, and John nods.

“Before Afghanistan.”

 

Before Afghanistan there had been University, and Uni is where Mary Morstan had come into John Watson’s life.

She so nearly stayed, so nearly took root and became Mary Watson, so nearly melded with John and John’s life and John’s body and John’s name –

So nearly Mary changed so much.

But John had made a decision.

Afghanistan.

Their love had been real and raw and honest, and when the end came, it was, too. It came close to being bitter. It came close to being hateful.

But going to war, getting shot at, getting shot…these things change a man.

The man that wanted to marry, to settle, to name and raise a family…that man bled out in desert sands long before a sniper sent him home.

Adrenaline junkies don’t make good husbands, and John knows, oh he _knows_ they don’t make good fathers.

 

After Afghanistan, there was pain and loneliness and the despondency of having no purpose, no place.

And then Sherlock happened, and John didn’t – and doesn’t – question it as much as he should. He didn’t – and doesn’t ­– look too closely. Why label it, why tag happiness, the first real contentment he’s had in years?

Why analyze it at all?


	2. Chapter 2

After Regent’s Park, it’s like Mary’s inescapable. John runs into her at Tesco’s, at the corner store, at his favorite pub. There’s a shame and a longing and a bittersweet nostalgia in it, and he finds himself hoping to see her and hating to see her, and Sherlock doesn’t even tease him about it which somehow makes it worse –

And then, one day, when Sherlock is bent over a run-over pedestrian, claiming it was premeditated murder, because _look at the heels of her shoes –_ and John’s standing just inside the _do not cross_ tape, and he hears –

“John!”

He closes his eyes, just for a moment, then turns with a smile. “Mary!”

“Oh god, John, was it someone you knew?” She’s concerned for him, and he’s reminded how quickly he fell in love with her the first time.

“No – it’s…well. It’s complicated. I’m here to help –”

“He’s here with me – as my assistant,” Sherlock says smoothly from right behind him, making John jump. “Mary, I presume – school teacher, engaged for six months now – just moved to the area from…Dorwick.”

Mary raises her eyebrows and looks at John, a small smile quirking her lips. “Either I have a stalker, or two, or…?”

John sighs, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “Mary, allow me to introduce Sherlock Homes, flatmate and busybody _extraordinaire_.”

Mary shakes Sherlock’s hand with a wry, “Charmed.” She pauses. “And impressed.” She looks Sherlock up and down and turns to smile at John. “So you two hang around wrecks for kicks?”

“Something like that,” John mutters darkly, as Sherlock moves off to argue with Lestrade again.

Mary grins. “Been living in this area long?”

“Hm?” John tears his gaze away from where Sherlock is bullying Anderson, wondering how long he has before he’ll need to intervene. He turns to Mary just in time to catch a knowing look. “A while,” he says, replaying her question in is mind, ignoring her subtle smile.

The smile becomes a grin. “Excellent! Eric and I are new here as Mr. Observant pointed out.” She winks. “Care to join us for dinner this Friday? I’m sure all four of us will have a lovely time, and, well, we have no idea where to go or what to do here – for fun I mean. We could use some guidance.” She flashes him her smile again, and he’s powerless to refuse her number and the promise to call before Friday to set it up.

“Coming, John?” Sherlock calls as Mary walks away from the scene, and John pockets her number and realizes what she said.

 _All four of us_.

 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock looks up from where he’s pacing the living room floor, watching the way his feet land with each step.

John has waited until The Day to tell Sherlock, because if he told him in advance the detective would weasel his way out of it, stranding John, but if he wrecks it at the last minute, John could maybe bow out, too. Does he want to? He doesn’t even know anymore. He just doesn’t want a _fuss_.

“I, umm.” John clears his throat. “I may have accidentally –” he winces, “set us up for a double date with Mary and Eric.”

Sherlock stops pacing and simply stares at John. His mouth actually falls open. The silence stretches.

 

“It cannot be a _date_ ,” Sherlock hisses later. He’s wearing his usual too tight white shirt, dark jacket and trousers, with black shoes. “A _date_ is when two people who like each other do something fun, or so I’ve been reliably _informed_.” His words don’t carry as much venom as they could, seeing as he’s curled up into a ball on the sofa.

“You don’t have to look at it that way, then.” John puts on his tie and jacket and comes to stand by the sulking detective, ready to go. “Look, if it’s bothering you that much, it shouldn’t be too difficult to explain we’re not – you know… a couple.”

“You still fancy her. You still want her or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

John sighs. “Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is, feelings or not, she was an important part of my life. If I can do a friendly thing for her, I’d like to.” John blinks, realizing he meant every word. He feels better about this already. “Please?”

Sherlock sighs, but sits up anyway.

 

Dinner is… _illuminating_.

Mary is stunning as ever, lovely chestnut hair spilling low down her back, blue dress hugging just right. Eric is a lucky man – and speaking of Eric…

Eric is tall, with short black hair and striking blue eyes. His open face and easy smile have John smiling in return and hating the man just a little bit less. He has crows’ feet, a slightly too large nose, and a very high forehead, and it takes John nearly all of dinner to realize who he reminds him of:

Sherlock.

Which would explain Mary’s fascination with his flatmate – the way she glances at him in curiosity, open and covert.

Eric, meanwhile, is regaling them with tales of his Australian based business venture, and the slight twang in his words is evident of the time he spends there. “It’s a bloody crap-shoot, mate,” he finishes, and John nods, wondering how long they have before the very bored detective next to him implodes or explodes or does whatever it is that massive _gits_ are threatening to do when they keep kicking you under the table.

“And you?” Eric asks.

It takes John a moment to process the question. “I’m a doctor,” he blurts simplistically, and he could kick himself, but settles for evading another of Sherlock’s instead.

“Impressive,” Eric beams, and is so sincere that John sees for a moment why Mary is going to marry this man.

And then Sherlock speaks. “Hardly.”

“Excuse me?” Mary says, just a touch icily.

Sherlock locks gazes with her coolly. “Of the many words to adequately describe John’s value and expertise as a medical professional, ‘impressive’ hardly fits the bill. And while ‘doctor’ is what he _does,_ what he _is_ merits greater mention.”

“And what _is_ he to you Mr. Holmes?”

“I’m rather more interested to see what he is to you, Ms.Morstan.”

John and Eric share a glance. “Should we leave them to it?” Eric asks, and John bursts out laughing, because _what are the other options, really?_ He’s still reeling from what Sherlock said, Mary’s bizarre defense of him against some imagined insult, and now this strange property dispute.

“I _am_ feeling rather objectified,” John cuts into the silent argument Sherlock and Mary seem to be waging.

With a start, the two come to their senses, and even Sherlock seems to have the good graces to look sheepish. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, and leaves the table.

Mary turns to John, stricken. “John – I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me –”

John makes calming noises. “Hang on a tick – I’ll be back. Let me just talk to him, and then we should all go for drinks somewhere. Our place maybe. I don’t care.” John wants to beam, can feel a sudden burst of joy threatening to overwhelm him. It feels like a beginning.

Because he isn’t in love with Mary anymore, and he isn’t jealous of Eric. He’s happy for them – ecstatic, really – and the prospect of having two excellent new friends in his life is wonderful. And judging by how long it took Sherlock to snap, he doesn’t detest either of them, which is a rare compliment.

John should know.

 

He finds Sherlock outside, his eyes cuttingly sharp under the starlight. John joins him, and they lean against the balcony railing, side by side.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” John teases, breaking the silence, “but you realize you defended me against a compliment?”

Sherlock huffs a breath. “It wasn’t a very good compliment.” It’s an attempt at humour, but it’s also soft, and a little sweet in the saying. John finds his breath is stilled by it, just for a moment.

“You meant what you said?” John asks finally.

“Of course I did.” The words come quickly, and Sherlock glances down and away.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Sherlock nods his head, just once. “We should have them over. For a drink. That’s what people do, right?”

John is flabbergasted, but gathers himself quickly. “I was going to suggest it myself – but why on _earth_ would you suggest it?”

“Come now John, even a fool can see they make you happy.”

“Sherlock –”

“Let’s go, John, before they dine and dash.”

 

One drink becomes many, and the conversation is friendly discussion and debate and not the dreaded small talk. And Sherlock has his chemistry and his violin and his laptop to entertain him when the people fail to do so, and even ends up explaining bits of the latest case to Eric while Mary watches the two similar yet totally opposite men fail to note their similarities _at all_.

In fact, she and John have a quiet giggle about it, all to themselves.

And then Sherlock looks at Mary with his Case Stare, and John groans, and Sherlock says:

“Walk for me.”

Mary quirks an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I believe you are the exact height and approximate weight of that hit and run victim. I would like to see how you disperse your weight as you walk.”

With a shrug, Mary obliges. Her heels – and the four drinks she’d had – make her wobble, and she just about scuffs both shoes in the space of a few steps.

“And now barefoot.”

Again, she shrugs, slips her stocking feet out of her high heels, and paces back and forth. This time she doesn’t sway back and forth, but she still nearly twists and ankle before John calls an end to it.

However, Sherlock is on the phone before she’s even done. “Lestrade, I was right, we’re looking for – yes I know what time it is – no I don’t – I have new _evidence­_ – no. No. No John did not – oh for _god’s sake_ I asked a Normal Female Person – yes. Well we happen to be entertaining at the moment – what is so difficult to comprehend about that sentence?” He hangs up the phone. “Scotland Yard is being useful, as usual.” He glances at his audience. “ _Sarcasm,_ ” he translates helpfully.

John falls over laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Sunday when the text comes:

_Your presence is required._

_-SH_

A moment later an address and a time, thirty minutes from now. John sighs and calls Sherlock.

“You realize I’m meant to be meeting Mary at that time to –”

“Well then bring her with if you must!” The line goes dead. John considers, then texts Mary the pertinent information, along with a warning:

_Could be dangerous._

 

Half an hour later, it’s dusk, and John’s waiting by the street corner. Mary strolls up, along with Eric. “What’s up, Watson?” she asks cheerfully, reverting to her catch-phrase-hello from Uni.”

“Oh god,” John groans, laughing, “not the prepositional clauses again.”

She beams. “You remembered!”

“I had to – my girlfriend at the time was studying to be an English teacher.” He grins cheekily at her and she punches him on the shoulder. “Alright, Eric?”

“Never better, mate. What are we doing here?”

John laughs. “Story of my life.”

“John.” Sherlock is suddenly behind him. He grimaces. “You brought the whole _menagerie_.”

“Your fault.”

Sherlock glowers. “I may have been hasty in my reply earlier.”

“Uh-huh.” John crosses his arms. “What’s the plan?”

Sherlock grins suddenly. “Actually, now we can have a distraction – you two go inside this shop and make a fuss. Complain or something. I don’t care. John and I will need fifteen minutes alone in the back.”

John sighs, and it is a long suffering sigh. Mary is overcome with a mysterious coughing fit.

Eric nods. “Alright.”

Sherlock frowns at his mobile phone. “Better make it ten minutes. Come along, John.”

Mary doubles over coughing.

 

“What are we looking for, Sherlock?”

They are creeping through the back of a mechanic’s work hangar. Cars in various states of distress crowd the work floor.

“A sable or charcoal _Sortie_ – ah! Here. No. wrong one. Keep looking.”

“Is it this one?”

The little black car looks fine – no cosmetic work needed on this one, unlike the other paint jobs and windshields in here.

“Could be,” Sherlock breathes. “Check under the boot.”

John rolls his eyes, but wriggles in under the car nonetheless. “Sherlock,” he wriggles out again. “The floor of the boot is cut – like a trapdoor maybe?”

“Perfect.”

He helps John up with a firm hand, then immediately releases him to start texting Lestrade. John pushes him out the backdoor before their luck runs out.

 

“So, what was that in aid of?” Mary asks when they saunter up to where John and Sherlock are sitting. It’s a little Greek cafe, and while John is drinking his coffee, Sherlock is ignoring his.

“What sort of English teacher ends a sentence with a preposition?” Sherlock asks, checking an incoming text.

“One that speaks like a real person. You haven’t answered my question.”

Sherlock closes his phone with a small but happy sigh. “Lestrade’s making the arrest now.”

“Brilliant,” John says, rolling his eyes. “What for?”

“The case, John! The case!”

“We’re waiting, Sherlock.” John drains the last of his coffee, and Mary and Eric pull up chairs.

Sherlock seems nonplussed by all the non-begrudging attention for a moment, then launches into his explanation:

“The victim was discovered, in the road, high quantities of alcohol still present in her bloodstream, with injuries consistent with those of a run-in accident – but her clothes and particularly her shoes were wrong; not nearly damaged enough for someone who’d been stumbling along the street, never-mind getting hit by a car. Mary here proved that for us when she scuffed her shoes while walking the line for us on smooth indoor flooring – imagine a tipsy or _intoxicated_ woman doing that in _very_ high heels on pavement. Mary could barely manage to maintain stability barefoot.

“Now, CCTV footage didn’t reveal what happened because the accident took place at a downed camera – strategically damaged for just this purpose, one is inclined to suspect. However, cameras at the lead up and follow up points along the road provided a database of vehicles to select from, and of the vehicles present at the time of the incident, the _Sortie_ is the only one that does not contain a spare tire in the boot, making a it a logical choice for installing a trapdoor mechanism to deposit the fresh body of a young, inebriated woman beaten to death onto the road, making it look like a hit and run. We just ID’d the car inside that mechanic’s shop, thus getting a good look at the license plate, leading to the arrest of the guilty party.”

John beams at Sherlock.

“That’s…quite something,” Mary breathes.

Eric grins and claps Sherlock on the shoulder, making him jump. “Impressive!” he booms in his twang of an accent.

John shakes his head, and grinning, says, “Hardly.”

Sherlock looks over in surprise, and their gazes catch.

It’s the beginning of something _extraordinary_.


End file.
